Hello from the Other Side
by everythingneedsrevision
Summary: A set of interconnected not-quite-drabbles (100 words and I are not friends) based on lyrics from Adele's "Hello."


**Title:** All the Broken Pieces

 **Rating:** T/PG-13 (for certain themes)

 **Word Count** : 1,058

 **Disclaimer:** If I wrote it, it wouldn't be published because it would be locked in endless revision.

 **Pairings:** Implied past Frank/Callie and Ned/Nancy, can take the Frank/Nancy as more than friends or not as you want. It's vague that way.

 **Author's Note:** I'll admit, from the first time I heard Adele's "Hello," it had this haunting hold on me that said it needed fic.

Normally, I don't song fic like most people, but I couldn't help thinking of Frank and Nancy after all the angtsy fanfic I'd read, and while I wasn't wanting to do an angsty piece (I wanted fluff, I did, I swear) I kept thinking it fit.

Then I wrote it, because it did. (So does "Someone Like You," but I am trying to resist it.)

I thought about putting each drabble as a separate chapter and using lyrics for a chapter title, but that seemed like too many chapters for so few words.

* * *

 **Hello from the Other Side**

 _Hello, it's me  
I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet_

* * *

The call surprised him, a voice from out of the blue, one he hadn't heard in years and wanted to hear just as much as he didn't.

The request was simple. Innocent, almost.

 _"Frank, it's Nancy. Can we meet?"_

* * *

 _They say that time's supposed to heal ya_  
 _But I ain't done much healing_

* * *

She hung up after the question, knowing it was stupid. She shouldn't have called. She'd thought—she didn't know what she'd thought, but she'd wanted to talk it out, to make sense of something that never had much rhyme or reason. Maybe that would even heal old wounds.

She had never managed that, not in all the time that had passed.

 _Can we meet?_ Stupid. She already knew the answer to that. It wasn't even worth asking.

* * *

 _I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be  
When we were younger and free  
I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet_

* * *

She dreamt about him again, about how they'd met. How big the world had seemed then, when they were just children, convinced they could solve any mystery they wanted to. The innocence of youth, never thinking they would manage to ruin their lives and hurt each other in the process.

They used to live for the mystery, the thrill of the chase.

Now, she thought, they lived in fear of it.

* * *

 _There's such a difference between us  
And a million miles  
_

* * *

 _She's changed._

When people asked Frank what happened, that was the answer he gave, the only one he had. Somewhere, something had changed—in her and in him—and when it did, they couldn't go back. The loss of innocence, the sting of failure...

The gaping wounds that never healed.

* * *

 _I must have called a thousand times  
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done  
But when I call you never seem to be home_

* * *

She should count herself fortunate. She'd gotten his voicemail again, like usual. Frank never seemed to be home, never took her calls. She didn't think he didn't know it was her. She had left messages and numbers.

He never called back.

She didn't know that she could say she was sorry if she never got the chance to talk to him. Leaving a message wasn't the same. She didn't even know if he listened to them.

* * *

 _At least I can say that I've tried_  
 _To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart_

* * *

Frank deleted the message, refusing to let himself listen to it again. He would, if he left any of them on his voicemail, but he wasn't that stupid. He knew that others would call him a masochist, between his talent for investigation and being a magnet for trouble. They said he was asking for it, the pain he got, and sometimes he'd wondered if they were right.

 _At least she tried to apologize,_ Joe had said once when he caught Frank deleting one of Nancy's messages.

Frank had looked at him and shook his head. _Maybe she's not the one who should apologize._

* * *

 _It don't matter it clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore_

* * *

Frank was doing well, Joe had told her years ago, when she'd failed to hide her concern and asked poor, obvious questions for a trained investigator. He was fine. Happy, even.

He'd moved on. He hadn't done any of what he'd been expected to do—hadn't joined his father's firm or any of the agencies that had made him offers. He was using his mind for puzzles other than mysteries, and while it almost surprised her—it didn't—he was happily and comfortably employed, making a name for himself in his new field.

He'd managed to put it all past him, it seemed.

She still wished she'd been able to do the same.

* * *

 _It's so typical of me to talk about myself I'm sorry_

* * *

 _"Tell me about your case," he said, and she raised her eyebrow. Frank shrugged. Cases had brought them together before—had torn them apart—but one thing they never did anymore was discuss their personal lives._

 _It was just better that way. They both knew that._

 _So she told him about her case, and he didn't ask about other things—other people. Neither did she. That was how it worked these days, how it had to be._

 _They had nothing else left, just cases._

 _And they wouldn't be enough. Frank already knew that._

* * *

 _It's no secret that the both of us  
Are running out of time_

* * *

"Biological clock, eh?" Joe teased her as she told him about her last case, not wanting to think about how it might hit close to home.

It was looking like artificial insemination might be her only chance at a child, but that did not mean she was rushing to do it now. She wasn't that old. She had time. She kept telling herself that, even as another year passed.

"Look, Nancy, I think there's something you should know," Joe said, losing any hint of teasing. His face was all too somber now. "It's about Frank. And he won't tell you himself, I know, but..."

"But what?"

"He never really recovered from what happened."

"I know," she said, swallowing down all the feelings that went with those words.

Joe shook his head. "You don't. I mean it, Nancy—he _never_ recovered."

She stared at him, willing him to be wrong. "You don't... How long?"

"At this point... Couple weeks, maybe."

"I don't understand," Nancy said, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. "Why wouldn't he—why didn't he—I could have—he wouldn't even talk to me and now—"

"He wasn't going to tell anyone," Joe said, his voice betraying how hurt he'd been by Frank's actions, keeping that secret from him. "Apparently, it was what he felt he deserved after what happened to Ned and Callie... and you."


End file.
